Stressed times of days past by Kyle W

I can’t explain to someone who hasn’t been there what it’s like to wake up, and have the black curtain of storm clouds suddenly dropped around me. How can I explain that the objectively irrational impulses seem subjectively rational? That I understand that I'm not OK, but there’s nothing I can do to change it, while the world goes on making demands as if I still felt “normal”.

The college still wants its payment for classes that I dread going to and drudge to nonetheless. The professors still want me to do ridiculous amounts of pointless papers, homework, and tests. The boss demands I work for the same meager hourly amount that permits me to barely scrape by. The significant other knows something is wrong, but she or he can't really do anything but smile and hold my hand as we're out on another date, there physically, but not mentally.

There are two ways things can go from here. Sometimes with a good night’s sleep and some self reflection and a mental health day, things will be good again, and I’ll pick up my stuff, and keep moving forwards.

Sometimes, things don’t get better. The wiring isn’t just on the fritz, the fuse is blown out. If I asked for help of friends and family, they’ll insist on chemical assistance. They don’t really understand quite why or how the chemicals work, but “they should help”. They might (will) have side effects. The cure might end up being worse than the disease. Sure, it makes one happy, but then one can't even fell another emotion. If that one doesn’t work, they have others, ones that get rid of stress, but turn the user into a corpse, bereft of any emotion at all. Or a cocktail of medications, each one to deal with the side effects of another. Unique madness.

With the meds, they might insist on talking. Lots of talking, in the vain hope that like the infinite monkeys with their infinite typewriters might turn out some Shakespeare, if you say enough words for long enough, everything might fall into place. Sometimes they’re good at listening, sometimes they’re not. With the right person, it helps. Finding that right person, I've found, is tougher than the talking itself.

Fortunately, for me, most days are consistently normal. I wake up. I stare at the face in the mirror with stubble that feels like it belongs on someone older than college age. I go to class, and try to fit into “normal” like every other unique student that looks just like everyone else.

But occasionally, there are those days. Days where the mask is as thin as the paper in my notebooks. Surviving the day is an act of will that leaves a lingering exhaustion that seeps into my bones, into my soul. Like a drowning man in a flash flood, I wrap myself around the hope that the waters will die down soon, and I'll be safe.

Adapted from http://www.warwickrendell.com/2008/09/17/depression-in-my-own-words/

I liked what this had to say, it helped me to explain how I felt a year or so ago, so the messages are the same, but edited to fit my own personal life.